


The Journey of Them

by salemunderworkings



Series: The World of Iadrubia [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Merogan Dune, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Story - Freeform, Other, origianl fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salemunderworkings/pseuds/salemunderworkings
Summary: “It’s time we put an end to this reign of terror, Merogan!” The hero called, his voice echoing off the black stone walls of the room. The villain, Merogan, rose a hand, the black wisps that surrounded the coal black skin and claws. Under the smoke that enveloped the body of what was once a man,what was once eyes glowed a blinding white.Merogan was meant to be the villain, and Sigurd the hero, but when an even more powerful force comes into play, a hero and a villain must fight together to save the world before it is destroyed.THIS STORY IS STILL IN ITS FIRST STAGE!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review!! If I don't get reviews, then I will feel no one actually enjoys the story! Reviews help authors a lot, so please leave reviews on your favourite stories!!

The hero stood before him, fingers grasping at the claymore grip so tight that his knuckles turned a bright white against his tanned skin. The claymore was just as long as the hero was tall, maybe even a bit longer. It was polished to a pristine shine that reflected the green glow of the light orbs that rotated above them slowly.

 

“It’s time we put an end to this reign of terror, Merogan!” The hero called, his voice echoing off the black stone walls of the room. The villain, Merogan, rose a hand, the black wisps that surrounded the coal black skin and claws. Under the smoke that enveloped the body of what was once a man,what was once eyes glowed a blinding white.

 

“And why do you think that?”  Merogan’s voice was higher in pitch and raspy, it echoed itself in an almost electronic way. It was unsettling, and sent shivers down the hero’s back. “They seem perfectly happy as is!”

 

“You killed those who opposed you, Merogan. A king doesn’t slaughter his people in the streets!” 

 

“That’s just what you think, Sigurd.Kings have slaughtered their people in the streets for thousands of generations! And besides,” an emerald flame enveloped the very tips of his claws, flexing his long fingers, the flames joined to make one palm-sized ball of green fire, and he would draw his hand back. “I’m no king.”

 

The fireball flung from his hand, and Sigurd had to roll out of the way in order to dodge the oncoming attack. Once back on his feet, his would charge at Merogan, sword ready to plunge into his chest and end this once and for all, only for the sword to clash with a staff. the stone held within the casing at the tip of the staff glowed just as neon green as the eyes of the beast. the bio-luminescent teeth that sprawled across the pitch black, featureless face of the man that stood before him. 

 

“You know, usually when someone is trying to take me out, it’s to a nice steak dinner, and not trying to put a-” A grunt of effort left Merogan as he pushed Sigurd away, “-sword through my chest!” Sigurd stumbled back at the force of the push and let out a hiss. 

 

There it was, the staff. The staff that gave you power over this land, the entire world they lived in.. It was thought to be lost for thousands of years, but here it was. It controlled when things lived and when things died, it predicted things that had not yet happened yet, and Merogan was using it to give himself the power to rule over people. No one like him should hold that kind of power. No one should hold that kind of power in any way. 

 

He would slash with his claymore, only for the floor beneath them begin to shake, catching both fighters off guard. The roof above them began to crumble, causing Merogan to jump out of the way of some falling rubble. Sunlight streamed through the holes forming in the roof, causing both him and the hero to shield their eyes. 

 

That was the biggest mistake the both of them had made in all of their years on this earth. The staff flew from Merogan’s claws, along with the claymore from where it lay on the floor near Sigurd- right into the hands of a being that seemed to gracefully float from one of the holes in the ceiling. 

 

“Isn’t this just classic.. The hero fighting who he thinks is the villain. It is a shame that that is exactly where that story will end.” boomed the man, a grim smirk forming across pale lips. To Merogan, this man seemed oddly familiar. To Sigurd, he knew exactly who this man was. He had read so many books with the main focus being a demon who used pawns to get what they wanted. This man, he had ruled hundreds of years ago, and he was meant to be  _dead._

 

That's what people had hoped, at least.

 

“I am awfully sorry, Merogan, but I won’t be needing you anymore.” the man continued, waving a dismissive hand in the direction of the robed mage, which sent him flying towards a far wall. Merogan hit it with a grunt, and the white glow of his eyes and teeth went a fluorescent green.

 

“What do you mean? Who the hell are you?!” Merogan shouted, only for his body to be pulled from the wall, and for it to hit against another wall, hitting it face first. A pained groan left him, and he slid to his knees, the smoke that enveloped his face only thickened as he looked over his shoulder, flames forming at the tips of his claws.

 

This only caused his head to go crashing into the wall, this time knocking Merogan unconscious. 

 

Sigurd couldn’t move to try and stop this man, seeming frozen in place on the floor. Every muscle in his body was stiff, he couldn’t move, only watching as this man’s feet touched the ground. It was a long stroll towards him, taking his sweet time, and only once he got there did he see the blood red eyes, the fangs. The man would lean down, taking a fistfull of golden hair into his hand and yanking back his hair. 

 

“Viswanath, nice to finally meet you, hero. You have a big roll to play in this story, and so does your little friend.. Though i’d like to see how hard you’ll fight for your lives. Have fun while you can, hero.” Viswanath hissed in his ear, before suddenly the pull on his hair was released, and the man was gone.

 

Viswanath was meant to be dead- a mortal turned god through means that no mage could explain. He was meant to be slain thousands of years before, but he had just destroyed a fortress that had taken him years to find, much less get into.. And all it took was what he assumed was a spell for this man to get in.

 

Sigurd’s hands curled into fists, and he would let a deep breath escape him through his nose. His head was pounding, his heart racing because he knew what Viswanath wanted.. He wanted Merogan and him to work as a team to try and destroy him once and for all, like this was some little game he got to play.. So he guessed he would play along, but he would change the rules once he got to the playing board, and he knew Viswanath knew that’s what he would do..

 

He would be prepared, no matter what.

 

Getting to his feet, he would feel every little inch of his body ache and protest, but they couldn’t waste time. Lumbering towards the limp body of Merogan, he would nudge him with his foot.

 

“Hey, wake up.” Sigurd demanded, but he got no response. 

 

“ _ Hey. _ ” He stated, this time giving him a firm kick, which caused Merogan to finally stir and groan. A clawed hand rose to his head, but he realised that the once pitch black claw was beginning to fade into a lighter colour. A sickly grey at the very tip of them.

 

Merogan hissed in pain, pulling his hand away from his head to see a silvery liquid substance on it. “Well then, Knight Sigurd.. Are you going to kill me?” He inquired, slowly craning his head to stare up at him. The glow had turned from a green to a deep purple, the glow dim and soft. 

 

“No. I have plans for you, demon.”

 

“Are you going to tell me what those plans are?” Merogan would continue weakly, watching as Sigurd held out a hand, offering it to him. Merogan only stared at the Hero, not accepting the hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

 

“Not yet. Once your head heals, I’ll explain. Now, let’s get out of this damned tower before it collapses in on us.”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is UNEDITED, PLEASE leave a review, and if you notice mistakes, don't be afraid to tell me!

It was odd to feel warm blankets wrapped around him, tucked into a bed that didn’t belong to him, bandages wrapped around his head in an attempt to stop the silver blood that had spilled down his shapeless face. One glowing eye would squeeze shut as sunlight streamed through the curtains, and he would attempt to sit up. he found himself tied down to the bed.. He just barely had enough slack on the restraints to bend his elbows slightly.

 

“A bit excessive, don’t you think, Sigurd?” he grunted, tugging at the restraints and clawing at the sheets. His claws had grown even more grey, which was an odd sight for him.

 

“You know, of all things I expected, I certainly did not expect hooves.” Sigurd stated, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Of all the times that he had seen sigurd, whether in battle or in a vision, he had never seen the man without armour. He wasn’t what most people would think was ‘fit’, not in the slightest. He was heavy set, but not to the point it was unhealthy. Most of his weight came from muscle, and without that fat on him, the muscles would be utterly useless.

 

Lifting his head to look towards his feet- no, hooves. He had hooves, not feet, which had certainly been a struggle to tie down. Merogan would begin to chuckle, shifting his legs as best he could.

 

“You know, you could’ve just asked if you wanted me to undress, Sigurd! I’m quite easy to get into be-”

 

“Oh, shut up.” Sigurd groaned. The thought of even being near the man fully clothed was an idea that made him feel sick, but he had more injuries than he had expected, and merogan hadn’t stopped squirming, so he had tied him down and gotten as much clothing he could off. Somehow, Merogan had survived nearly ten broken ribs, and a horribly chipped hoof.

 

“So, you don’t want-”

 

“I swear to god I will slit your throat, demon.”

 

“You assume I have a throat to slit.” Merogan rumbled, glowing white teeth stretching across his pitch black face. The shadows and smoke that concealed his identity danced around him playfully, which made Sigurd let out a scoff.

“I think everyone has a slitable throat, _Merogan._ ” sneered the knight as he moved to pull his own hair out of his face, golden eyes glimmering in the sunlight. Merogan thought it was quite stunning how they were both on such opposite ends of the spectrum looks wise, and he found himself wishing for a mirror so they could compare.

 

“Well, i guess you’re not technically wrong..” Merogan mumbled thoughtfully, tilting his head as he stared up at the ceiling. It had been years since he had been under a inn roof. The bard that sang downstairs was ringing a song he knew too well from years of drinking at the bars of this kingdom, long before he became what he was today.

 

“Now, you haven’t killed me yet.. Why?” Merogan inquired, speaking slowly. If Sigurd wanted him dead, then he would have done it by them. He wouldn’t have bandaged him up or used any form of healing potion on his wounds.

 

There was a long moment of silence before sigurd would slowly lean forward. His elbows settling on his knees as he took a deep breath. “I’m going to need your help. Viswanath, the man that did that to you.. He wants to do something much worse than you ever did.” Viswanath may not have said it, but it was all in the history books. The man wanted to destroy the world, and he had tried before.

 

“Sigurd, I’m hurt!” Merogan gasped softly, tugging on his wrist restraints and grunting softly. “How could you not think I’m the worst?” his voice dripped with sarcasm, the glow of his eyes and teeth going that horribly bright green as green flames formed at his claws and then burned away the ropes that held him down.

 

Sigurd quickly grabbed a neary butter knife- as if that could stop him- and stood, ready to tackle the much taller man if he had to.

 

“I won’t be of much use to you without a staff. I am a mage after all, and without a way to manifest and store my power, I will be completely useless. Not to mention the only weapon that you have at this moment seems to be a..” Merogan paused, running a claw down the length of the silver blade, “very dull butter knife.”

 

Silence followed after Merogan stopped speaking before Sigurd’s back straightened and he tilted his head up a bit indignantly. “I suppose you’re correct.” he admitted, heaving a slightly defeated sigh. “I haven’t got any coin.”

 

“Neither do I.” Merogan would reveal, looking to his bare hooves. “What do we do?”

 

“Well.. we could take odd jobs around town but that could take months.”

 

“My, my, Sigurd! Are you suggesting we _steal_ from these oh-so-innocent towns people?” Merogan asked, voice dripping with sarcastic shock. He would place a clawed hand over his chest in disbelief and crack a smirk.

 

“As much as I hate to.. Yes. I am suggesting we do.. That.”

 

Sigurd couldn’t even bring himself to say those words. Stealing from the people of an innocent town.. How they would be taking precious weapons from people who needed to defend themselves, but they needed them more.

 

He would slowly make his way to the window, running a hand through the low ponytail that he had put his blond hair into. He would lean against the wall with one arm, looking out the window. “It’s not stealing if we eventually give back the weapons.” He stated matter-of-factly, biting his lip anxiously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but.. It was the only way he could see that would work without killing anyone.

 

“No worries, dear. I’ll take care of the stealing!” Merogan would chime proudly, waving a dismissive hand as he grabbed his robes. Sigurd didn’t protest, just gave a stiff nod.

 

“If you can. I prefer claymores. Silver, not steel.”

 

“No guarantees, dear!”

 

“And stop calling me ‘dear’!”

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

 

The little town was bustling with people, all of which were wandering the market and chatting amongst themselves. Children sprinted past him, nearly barreling into him. Teenage girls sat on a fountain, chatting and laughing at some boys across the way as they teased a younger boy half their size. He didn’t take too kindly to that, so he mumbled a curse under his breath, and suddenly the boys were mice. The girls shrieked, nearly falling into the fountain they sat on.

 

A pleased grin crossed his face as he strolled on, humming lowly once he came upon a blacksmith. Weapons lined the walls, and he knew there was no way he would be able to snatch a claymore and get away with it. He slowly ran a claw down one of the blades, deciding that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to cast a spell or two on some shop owners. He could feel sigurd’s eyes on him, watching from the inn window, making sure he didn’t truly hurt anyone. Turning to the blacksmith, he would make sure his hood hid his face entirely before letting out a little whistle.

 

“Excuse me, but do you have any silver claymores?” he inquired curiously, strolling closer in an unsettling way. The blacksmith looked up from his work, seeming slightly shocked by the figure in front of him.

 

“Oh, uh.. No, I haven’t had any orders for those.. I’ve got some silver short swords for sale.” The man offered, setting down his hammer and turning to face a sword hung on the wall. He would take it down, bringing it to mero so he could examine the weapon.

 

It was a well made sword, obviously silver, the hilt of the sword held two gemstones. One gemstone on each side, both of them were rubies, but they glowed, oddly enough.

 

“The gems. Is it enchanted?” Merogan asked curiously, moving to run a claw down the flat of the blade a bit absently.  If this blade was enchanted, that would be incredibly helpful in their journey, especially for a mortal like sigurd against an immortal like viswanath.. Against an immortal like himself. The pros seemed to heavily outweigh the cons.

 

“Indeed, it is. It was enchanted by the Seer that lives in the hut just outside of town. She sells all sorts of magic items.. Potions, staves, enchantments-”

 

“Staves?” Merogan would interrupt, suddenly very intrigued by this ‘seer’. He knew they were magical beings, but.. A seer who could enchant weapons was truly something.

 

“Yes.. I take it you’re a mage?”

 

“Yes, but that’s none of your business.” He would grumble, snatching away the sword and twirling a finger near the blacksmith’s, watching the man collapse onto the floor. The demon slipped the blade into his belt and began walking back towards the inn. The boys he had turned to mice had become normal once again, and they were on their knees in front of the other boy they had been harassing, begging forgiveness.

 

Making his way to the boys, he would snarl. “Begone.” he demanded, watching at the boy’s slowly looked up the length of his body, pure terror written on their faces. The boys would scramble to their feet and sprint off, stumbling over each other and shouting about a monster.

 

“Ah, a mage, I see!” Merogan rumbled, slowly leaning down so that he was eye level with the boy. He couldn’t be more than sixteen years of age, he was thin, his skin dark and eyes nearly black. Thick dreadlocks were held out of his face with a thin strip of fabric that tied around his head, long elf ears peeking from behind the dreads that framed his face.

 

“I.. I don’t know how I did that!” The boy squawked out, looking to his hands, which made a genuine smile come to merogan’s face. He knew he had cast the spell himself, but the world could always use some more young mages.

 

“And that is perfectly alright.. Not many people have the gift of magic without studying it.” despite knowing that the boy hadn’t cast the spell, he could feel power radiating off the boy. It was a rare sight to see natural mages- even he had spent twenty years or so studying just spells alone, not to mention all of the different types staves or potions or even magical items! He had a feeling that this boy would be useful.

 

“What is your name, boy?” Merogan investigated, tapping two claws together as he waited for a reply.

 

“Erilador Perhice, Sire.”

 

Sire. Not many of his subjects had actually seen him, much less spoken to him, so.. This boy must not just be a mage.

 

“You’re a slave.” Merogan stated, tilting his head. He could practically see Erilador’s heart plummet into his stomach, and he held up a reassuring hand. “Where is your master, boy?”

 

Erilador would make a nervous noise, and his gaze would fall to a beautiful young woman with flowing red hair, wearing a soft yellow dress that trailed behind her on the stone path. She was magnificent, truly, but all slave owners deserved the worst in merogan’s mind. Not even he was bad enough to own slaves.

 

Merogan would straighten his back, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the woman and then twirling a finger in her direction. Suddenly, the woman gasped, a hand raising to grasp at her thin throat, boils breaking out across her smooth- or what would once be smooth- skin, before they bust and bled. The woman would fall to her knees, people yelling in shock as she fell dead, blood ruining the yellow dress.

 

Erilador had grabbed his arm at one point, in which he set his hand on, offering a glowing green smile. “Go get your contract off her, erilador.” he instructed, watching the boy hesitate as he stared at the dead body of the woman.

 

“Go on, then.”

 

Erilador rushed towards the woman’s body, riffling through her purse and pulling out a rolled up piece of parchment that had yellowed slightly with age. She must have owned that poor boy his entire life, and he felt his hatred for her burn through his entire body. Erilador would rush back to his side, and his hand would set on his head. “Let me see, Erilador.”

 

Saying the boys name was important. He had probably never heard someone else say his name- not in a positive way, at least.

 

His hands shook as he held out the contract, merogan snatching it from his hands quickly. Emerald flames would engulf the contract that he held delicately in his fingers, and more black would fade from his claws, leaving a sickly grey.

 

“Erilandor, I give you freedom in the name of your king, Merogan Dure.” Merogan’s voice was soft, almost soothing in some ways. His now yellow eyes glowing brightly. “Do with your freedom what you’d like. Live a long life. Make a name for yourself-”

 

“Teach me?” the request was sudden, but Merogan had partly expected that. His smile only grew, and he would only nod once.

 

“Of course, Mage Erilandor.”


	3. Chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per usual, this hasn't been edited yet.

“Merogan?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Why in the nine hells do you have a random child?”

 

“Why in the nine hells  _ don’t  _ you have a random child?”

 

The annoyance that dripped from Sigurd’s tone didn’t intimidate Merogan in the slightest, but the glare that burned through him sent shivers down his spine. Merogan’s hand set on the very top of Erilandor’s head, protectively leading the little elf behind him. He knew how Sigurd was when it came to strangers. He didn’t trust people, always cautious. He had run into one too many raiders in his years, too many thieves and too many sketchy characters..

 

Not that Merogan wasn’t a sketchy character, obviously he was, but Sigurd took trust issues to a whole new level.

 

“He’s not coming with us.” Sigurd stated, thinking he didn’t leave any room for argument, but Merogan knew the perfect card to pull for this. 

 

“He was a slave, Sigurd. I couldn’t leave him.”

 

Sigurd only paused, his eyes rolling back in his skull as he closed his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath through his nose to steady himself, a very long groan escaping him. Opening a single golden eye, he would spot Erilandor peeking out from behind the looming mage, who’s horns nearly touch the ceiling. The blond was slowly beginning to realise just how much taller this man was.. If he even was a man. 

 

The shadows that shrouded the form of Merogan and the smoke that wafted off of him didn’t show whatever form he had before, and all he knew was that he had hooves, but that could be an illusion that was caused by the shadows.

 

“I find it very unsettling that you think taking a random child on this journey is an okay thing to do.” Sigurd grunted, rubbing his index and middle fingers against his temples. 

 

Merogan’s glowing white teeth formed over his shadowy form, pulling the claymore from his belt and shoving it against the knight’s chest, which Sigurd grabbed by the hilt.

 

“What you think about poor Erilandor doesn’t matter. He’s coming with, and that’s final.” Snarled the demon, a claw placed under Sigurd’s chin. Sigurd paled at the claw, his breath catching at the very top of his chest, not quite in his throat. The claws were razorsharp, and if Merogan pressed even a little harder, the claw would pierce submaxillary triangle right under his chin, which would effectively end him.

 

“ _ Fine. _ ” he grunted, not wanting to actually move his jaw. If he did, then the claw would pierce the skin..

 

The claw moved away, and Merogan gave a pleased hum. “Very good!” Merogan exclaimed a bit too loudly, resulting in the next room to pound her fist on the wall, to which Merogan responded with a foot through the wall.

 

“Master Merogan!” Erilandor gasped softly, speaking for the first time since they had arrived back to the inn room, and it made Sigurd’s heart melt. He couldn’t have said no if he had just spoken first. Of course, he was anxious this kid would get hurt, but..

 

“Don’t call me master.” Demanded the shadow man, turning back to the group and moving to jab at the claymore that Sigurd still held in his hand. “Now that we have your sword, Sigurd, both Erilandor and I need staves.. And I heard about a seer that might be able to help.”

 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

 

Leaves crunched under their feet as they walked along the path that had been pointed out to them by some locals, sigurd’s hand sat on the hilt of the short sword that he had been given. Ever paranoid the man was, never moving his head but eyes constantly glancing around to make sure the coast was clear. Merogan thought it made the man look absolutely insane, but considering who he was, he doubted that sigurd was the most insane looking one in the bunch.

 

The path they walked along was lined on each side by enormous red willows, their hanging scarlett leaves brushing against his horns. The leaves that crunched beneath their feet were from the much taller grey oak trees that towered about them all. If merogan tried hard enough, he thought maybe he may be able be able to float to the top and pluck off one of the grey flowers that bloomed at the top, but knew that he’d only be wasting his powers.

 

“I think we’re here.” merogan was broken from his thoughts by sigurd’s voice, and merogan’s gaze focused on a a little cottage, decorated in flowers that were impossible colours, vines creeping up the walls and into the opened windows. Merogan could smell the heavy scent of lemon and heartdrop fruits wafting through those same windows. It seemed to attract all sorts of little creatures, bunny rabbits, jackalopes, deer, bobcats, mice, bumblebees.. 

 

Erilandor scrunched his nose, pulling his scarf over his face to try and shield his nose from the scent. “What is that smell? Makes me light headed..” he muttered out, and a look at sigurd would confirm that they weren’t smelling the same thing he was.

 

“That would be an enchanter’s brew. If you’re not used to the smell, it doesn’t change. For me, i smell lemons and heartdrop.” merogan would explain, moving towards the door and glancing over his shoulder. “Go wait in the trees.”

 

For once, sigurd didn’t argue, giving out a rough cough and waving his hand in front of his nose to try and get the smells that filled his nose away. Erilandor was close at his heels, holding his shirt over his nose. Merogan couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, shaking his head as he rose his hand to knock against the wooden door.

 

It didn’t take long before the door to the cottage opened and slim woman opened the door, her kinky mess of curls falling into pale, milky eyes. The eyes of a seer, that much was obvious. A cloth wrapped around her forehead, the bright yellow contrasting with her dark hair and skin nearly perfectly. The shawl wrapped around her shoulders slid down softly, revealing more of her deep green rag dress which ended halfway on her calves. She wore no shoes, and he felt his nose scrunch under the shadows. 

 

_ Imagine the cuts she must get on that stone floor..  _ Thought the mage, and watched the woman smile up at him, almost like she knew exactly where to look. 

 

“My feet are just fine, sire, no worrying necessary.” her voice was soft, whispy, smooth. For a moment, merogan had forgotten that seers could read minds, and he shook his head.

 

“Well, that’s just swell. Might i come in?” he requested, peeking around her and into the cottage. Just as the blacksmith had said, her walls were lined with staves. One staff in particular seemed to catch his eye as he was let inside, the woman moving aside to give him enough room to move through the doorway. 

 

“You’d like a new staff.” the woman stated, rushing past him to her cauldron to give it a few busied stirs. 

 

“I would say you were quite observant, but..” merogan let out a chuckle, and the little woman would let out an oddly loud laugh. It was a beautiful sound, he had to admit, but beauty had never been his thing. 

 

“My, you’re a funny one.” the woman would turn back to him, making her way to his side and clapping her hands twice. The lanterns that sat around the little cottage set ablaze, illuminating the entire area and revealing each and every staff. They were all masterfully crafted, each one carved with such care and handiwork that he couldn’t even imagine a blind woman making them.

 

“Did you make these all yourself?” he inquired, moving to lift a staff from his hand in an attempt to find any imperfections. There were none that he could see. The dark wood was smooth to the touch, though it held engravings that became the stand for it’s stone. The stone was a soft lavender purple that glittered in the firelight of the lanterns.

 

“Most of them. A few i’ve received as gifts from travelling merchants, others i bought, a few were made by my late husband, such as the one you’re holding now.” 

 

Merogan would give a slow nod, setting it back on it’s rack and beginning to look through all the other staves. Finally, he came to the one that had caught his eye. It was a flexible staff, thin but not to the point it would snap if a bit of pressure was put on it, a spiral pattern wrapping around it. At the very bottom of the staff sat a half sun on top of four heavy metal beads. The clear gem that was held in place by silver wires at the very tip of the staff was dull, obviously not charged. 

 

He held the staff with two hands, letting his eyes close as he attempted to focus all of his power onto the staff. When he opened his eyes, the cottage had been filled with a bright white light that omitted from the stave’s stone. He let the light dull, running his claws over the gem and watching the little specks of power float throughout the gem

 

“How much for this one?” he mumbled, and looked down when he felt a hand on his.

 

“You have no money, dear king. You can repay me by allowing me to join you on your journey.”


End file.
